


my heart is like a hotpot

by centaurii



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Confession, Day 1, Fluff, M/M, Viktuuri Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 19:23:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9622070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centaurii/pseuds/centaurii
Summary: Yuuri has loved Viktor Nikiforov for more than a month now.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Contribution to VIktuuri Week! <3
> 
> Enjoy!

You’re going to tell him today.

When it’s down in black and white like that, you know there’s no questions asked, nothing to fear about the unknown because everything is planned. Except for his reaction of course.

You’ve been waiting for such a long time, slowly dreading the arrival of this very day. When you’d seen him on the small television your mother bought as a gift for your room, you immediately thought of the word love. But more than that, his sliver hair suits him because even though he’s not the most down to earth person you’ve ever met, he never fails to lift spirits, and his ocean colored eyes shine with an understanding that only the two of you can relate to. It’s the reason you’re such unlikely but good friends, best friends, you dare say.

You walk down empty hallways of the hot spring, each corner of the vicinity a reminder of all the times you’ve walked down here. Countless times. But each step is a little more memorable when you’re walking down with him. The memories of his presence, of his shoulders brushing yours every time you wake up together.

(You reluctantly agree to him sleeping in the same bed, because no matter how hard you try, his smile is too _memorizing_.)

Those memories are like home and yet they’re not; his real home in St. Petersburg, is more than this surely. Viktor probably doesn’t consider how much the build itself welcomes him.

Nowadays, it’s his chatter you hear all the time and even in your dreams because he never really shuts up.

(Yet another reason he makes permanent residence in your bed.)

You’re also in love with his voice, and it’s worth listening to despite the way it rubs you wrong on your bad days, like the automatic voice of your phone company telling you to press tone every though you’ve left the message a thousand times. You realize you wouldn’t mind having his recording on loop though. More often than not his voice makes you want to talk even though you were considered mute before the incident at the banquet.

And when you do talk to him, it’s worth it because it makes him smile or grimace and no matter what kind of face he pulls, you get a rush of pride because you know he’s reacting to you. So much unlike the cold shoulders and stiff silences you give to others hours before a competition.

Sometimes he doesn’t react to you.

(No.)

(Sometimes, you don’t notice his reaction to you.)

Sometimes he’ll initiate a look, lingering on your skin, and it makes you squirm when he tells you with a knowing smirk: maintaining eye contact will improve your social abilities. Sometimes in a rush of hope you think that maybe, despite being as reliant on him for light as the Earth is toward the Sun, he might be flirting with you. And because he knows exactly how to push your buttons, it might mean something more than friendship.

And that’s exactly what you want.

You tell yourself, trying to boost your confidence before you knock on the door to your room, your hand trembles and the hole in your gut worsens, with the hope that maybe you’ll just blurt it out and get it over with.

(You actually do morph the words in a low whisper, but don’t acknowledge that fact as it would surely give you reason to add technical points.)

It takes a while, but after ten minutes of dedication, Viktor cracks the door open. His pupils reflecting in the bright lighting in the hallway from morning tears.

(It’s not the birth of a nebula each time you see his face. It’s familiar, like loosening up in your favorite armchair and sinking into the material. The butterflies have long settled down, after you realized what they meant and why they appeared in your stomach in the presence of him in the first place.)

It’s still breathtaking when you see his chest from under the dark green complimentary pajamas, offered the first night he stayed, as he stretches. Even then, instead of oxygen you’re filled with warmth at the sound of his yawn and the lighter locks that stick up where his bang is supposed to be, meaning he’s been sleeping for too long.

(It’s actually one in the morning, but Viktor been in bed since three the previous day.)

You’re not one for hugs and bodily contact, but you’d gladly cuddle him all day, even if the contact is just platonic.

“V-viktor?” What’s supposed to be a grin is an immediate reddening of your face upon eye contact. You feel the heat at the tips of your ears, hoping that he isn’t fully awake to notice. 

Surprisingly, he doesn’t answer.

Viktor’s had been sleeping since the previous day, so of course him coming in the middle of the night is off putting. Having so much to drink from the day before, although rarely, a hangover crept its way to Viktor. The pain was slow, but almost instantaneously began pounding through the back of his head. You succeeded in modifying your schedule to aid him in his time of need.

(You also scold him for drinking three bottles of champagne.)

(Even though you love him, that doesn’t excuse him from leaving empty bottles around the living room. Ones that could’ve easily broken upon abrupt contact.)

After a few more minutes of Viktor’s teetering in the doorway, his eyes drift to the floor. You’re positive he won’t drop himself to get a few more winks, but he does and you catch him just before his knees hit the floor.

After standing Viktor so he’s easier to carry, you plop him down on the bed’s edge, looking away toward the posters in your room for some reason. As if they hold the answer you’re looking for.

You well and truly have been subtle about your crush on Viktor Nikiforov. In fact, you make it a point to avoid him whenever he makes his presence known in a crowd of people. A couple of times had left you both wondering if something was wrong, and while there so clearly was, you assured him of the opposite.

You’ve thought of confessing so many times, but as soon as you muster the courage to find him it’s an immediate reaction in your heart–

Later, later, later.

(You’re not shocked when he nuzzles the crook of your neck in his sleep because it happens almost every night. Nor are you willing to wake him up when you know he’s not feeling well.)

(It’s another one of those times.)

“Goodnight Viktor.”


End file.
